


A Lesson Learned

by Diamantspitzhacke (RedSoleWrites)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Post-January 6th, Toby Smith | Tubbo Angst, Toby Smith | Tubbo Has a Bad Time, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has a Bad Time, Traumatized Children, also spoilers for the whole y'know january 6th streams, but for now, i will simply show the effects of not letting them be kids, just let them be KIDS, mildly salty imma be honest, no beta we die like l'manberg, so does Tubbo, they shouldn't be but such is the way of life, we love ourselves some morally grey characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28707078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSoleWrites/pseuds/Diamantspitzhacke
Summary: “We needed to teach them a lesson.”“We had to send a message.”“Maybe one day you’ll understand.”The lessons that Technoblade and Philza intend to teach, and the lessons that Tommy and Tubbo learn.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 10
Kudos: 314





	A Lesson Learned

**Author's Note:**

> welp i speedran this in an hour and a half for no fucking reason so have some of whatever this is  
> but um yeah as much as literally every character has nuance and isn't in the right, i just find something so wrong with techno and phil unapologetically being like "yes, let's completely destroy these kids' home because we need to show them that government is Bad"  
> like i get your ideas, sure, but there's gotta be better ways to do it than just absolutely traumatizing these already-traumatized kids
> 
> everybody on this server needs to have a calm discussion about how to resolve their problems and find common ground rather than just escalating immediately to violence
> 
> mr hbomb can you mediate for us please you've done nothing wrong please mr hbomb the people need you  
> mr manifold come on please use your awesome and immeasurable power to simply end all war we know you have that power

“We needed to teach them a lesson.”

“We had to send a message.”

“Maybe one day you’ll understand.”

These lines, repeated endlessly by Philza and Technoblade, were the basis of their vendetta against L’Manberg and her people. _Oh, we didn’t want to hurt the people, but we needed to show them the right path. We needed to help them learn._

The issue with this sort of reasoning, though, is the uncertainty of the lesson being taught. When the teachers swoop in for only a scant few seconds, wreaking havoc in a single short class, then leave and call it a job well done, you can’t expect the students to do well on the test.

When they rained hellfire down on a nation limping on its last legs, they had a lesson in mind. When they set monsters beyond compare on the panicked people, all of them so painfully mortal, they had a message planned. When they left and called themselves morally victorious, they did so with the thought that their goal was transparent and that they’d succeeded in their endeavors.

Here is what they intended their audience to learn:

Technoblade, an anarchist who’d picked up his beliefs through cold, hard experience. As he called Tommy “Theseus” and told him all the ways a hero could fail, he had images in his head of himself. For all that people called him the Immortal Blood God, he’d been young once. Young, brash, naïve, far too much like a certain blond.

He’d been vividly reminded of when he’d made mistakes like Tommy had: when he’d had faith in the goodness of authority, in the well-meant choices of men of power; when he’d put value on all the wrong items, putting them above the irreplaceable things he could never get back; when he’d thought that he could take on the world and win because he was in the right, and the heroes always win, right?

Techno had learned all these things the hard way. He’d been put through so much pain as he learned, through blood and loss and devastation, just how painfully wrong he’d been.

A government wasn’t something he could trust. Power corrupted, after all, and what was more powerful than an uncontested leader? There were no “good intentions” behind powerful people, after all, only goals of self-betterment that had yet to be seen by the people. Techno’s eyes had been opened, and he’d seen just how twisted and evil rulers were. No, Techno couldn’t stand for governments any longer.

Items? Material things? They were nothing compared to the people he’d grown to care for over the years. When Technoblade said “For you, Phil, the world,” he meant it quite literally. All the material wealth in the world was nothing if it would mean losing the man who’d shown unconditional acceptance to him without missing a beat. For all the grinding and gaining Techno did, it was for the sole purpose of keeping the people he cared about safe, and he’d spend it all in an instant to save their lives.

Victory wasn’t something gained through righteousness. You didn’t win simply because you were the good guy. You won when you were strong, and sometimes strength was something you gained by giving up that goodness. Techno had worked and trained and fought for years on end for the sole purpose of becoming strong enough to be the victor of a thousand battles. It was his blood, sweat, and tears that had given Techno the ability to win. It had nothing to do with the ideas he fought for, just the muscles and weapons he fought with.

Technoblade wanted to keep Tommy from learning with all the pain he’d experienced. So, trusting nobody but himself and Phil, Techno taught the lesson himself.

Phila, the man who refused to die. The father who’d lost his son. He cared so much for the people around him, bolstered by ruthless survivalism and years of experience. And for all the wisdom and knowledge people looked to him for, he had once been young. Young, foolish, innocent, far too much like a certain brunet.

He’d been reminded too powerfully of his own mistakes when he looked at Tubbo: when he put his faith in the innate good of everyone, in the strength of the human spirit; when he thought that everything you needed to know you could pick up with the right attitude and a good book; when he’d believed that he could help everybody, save everybody, because stories have happy endings, right?

Phil had learned the error of his ways the hard way. His heart had felt like it could tear in two with all the wounds on it as he learned, through blood and loss and devastation, just how incomplete his view of the world had been.

People were good, sure, but not all of them. There was no such thing as “universal innate good” to him, not anymore. He’d seen the evils that individuals could create for the simple reason that they could. There was no guaranteed ability for people to choose the right path, only the motives that pushed them to one side or another. Some had better motives, but that was not something Phil could count on. Not anymore.

Books? Attitude? After what Phil had seen, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there was nothing that beat out simple experience in creating knowledge. Books were inadequate. They didn’t show the depth of an issue, brought none of the emotional weight with their pretty-printed words. Attitude was just a joke. You could have all the optimism in the world and still end up cowering in ignorance. You didn’t decide when you learned. The world made that choice for you.

And saving everybody? Well. After being forced to stab his own son through the chest and hold him as he’d died, Phil had become decidedly more cynical about this. If he could help everybody, he wouldn’t have had to hold his son’s rapidly cooling corpse. He wouldn’t be left with only a ghostly shell. No, Phil knew now exactly how limited his ability was. He couldn’t afford to stretch himself thin saving everybody; he’d snap under the pressure and lose them all. He had to pick and choose who to save. Sacrifices had to be made. And Phil had long since lost hope in a happy ending.

Phil wanted to keep Tubbo from learning with all the pain he’d experienced. So, trusting only the value of experience and his ability to control the variables, Phil taught the lesson himself.

The issue, though, was that these weren’t quite the lessons that Tommy and Tubbo learned.

As they watched in horror as the nation they’d fought for, bled for, cried for, _died_ for exploded into nothing but a ragged chunk error and a tainted memory, they looked at the men who’d caused it, and they _understood_.

They saw the stoic neutrality on their faces as their friends cried out for help, for explanation, for _anything_ , and they _listened_.

They experienced the horrific, endless feelings of betrayal and helplessness and loss, and they _learned_.

Tommy, brash and look-at-me red, learned.

He’d had had faith in the goodness of authority, in the well-meant choices of men of power.

But looking at the adults in his life as they destroyed the closest thing to a home that Tommy had ever had, he could only see malice and evil behind it. Power corrupted, after all. And all Tommy could see in the eyes of the men he trusted, the men he looked up to, was corruption.

There was no more trust in adults for Tommy.

He’d put value on all the wrong items, putting them above the irreplaceable things he could never get back.

But as he watched the nation he’d helped build turn to nothing more than dust and ashes, all Tommy saw was something irreplaceable dying. Who could replicate that dreamlike, nostalgic era of L’Manberg’s founding when one of the original idealists was dead, another a traitor, yet another half-mad with resentment, and the only two left traumatized kids? L’Manberg was gone for good, and Tommy resolved with ice in his heart to never let anything with that much meaning to him go again. His material possessions could all be lost, Tommy himself could die, but the things that he really cared about? Those too-few things? Well, Tommy wouldn’t stop until he could ensure that they’d never be lost. Starting with his discs, he’d keep what he cared for safe.

There was no more value for his life in Tommy.

He’d thought that he could take on the world and win because he was in the right, and the heroes always win, right?

But he’d been the good guy, hadn’t he? He’d fought for others, for the safety of his nation, for something greater than himself. And yet he’d lost. He’d been beaten down over and over and over again. It felt like the world was turning against him with all of it. He’d been the hero, but he could never win. Not with the strength of everybody he faced, not with the might of the world against him. He fought a losing battle, and he knew it. He’d keep fighting until the bitter end, but Tommy realized that there had never been a chance for him. His ideals didn’t matter, nor did his motives, or his reasons, or anything that would explain why Tommy did the things he did. All that mattered was strength, and when faced with the strength of the world, Tommy didn’t stand a chance.

There was no more belief in righteousness for Tommy.

Tubbo, foolish and calm-with-me green, learned.

He had put his faith in the innate good of everyone, in the strength of the human spirit.

But as he watched people he’d thought were good, people he’d thought were on his side, turn against everyone in a circle of betrayal and resentment, he couldn’t see that good anymore. If they were good, they wouldn’t be so selfish, right? They wouldn’t hurt everybody, time and time again, with no regard for the pain they inflicted. There was no guarantee that people would choose the right path. After what Tubbo had seen, all he knew was that they’d choose the path that benefitted them most, and screw everybody else. Good was a lie. All that existed was greed.

There was no more faith in goodness for Tubbo.

He had thought that everything you needed to know you could pick up with the right attitude and a good book.

But all his studying and optimism had done nothing to stop the slow downfall of his home. He’d read books for weeks to learn how to be a good leader, but all that he’d gotten was a pile of ashes. He’d been bright and polite with everybody, even Dream, who’d forced him to exile his best friend, and yet every last one of them had let him down. He’d crammed at the last minute, learning battle tactics and proper enchanting and potion brewing in a last-ditch attempt to win the final battle, but all his work was puny in comparison to piles of explosives and an army of monsters. He’d had all the optimism that they’d succeed, that his books had been enough, but he’d ended up cowering and singed. Books couldn’t teach him anything like this could. Attitude couldn’t save him from the harsh reality he lived in. There was only the experience that he’d gotten from it, the terrible, nightmare-inducing experience.

There was no more joy in learning for Tubbo.

He had believed that he could help everybody, save everybody, because stories have happy endings, right?

But, as he gazed and the ruin and rubble, he couldn’t see how this was a happy ending for anybody. He’d led his nation to its demise. He’d brought his citizens to this point of betrayal. He’d tried to help, he’d tried so hard, but in the end, it was pointless. All his efforts had led to nothing. His sleepless nights, his headaches and stress, his frantic attempts to reach out to anybody, all of it was for naught. Tubbo had tried to save everybody. In the end, he’d saved nobody. He couldn’t believe, after all of this, that his help was worth anything. It would only hurt people more.

There was no more belief in happy endings for Tubbo.

In the end, Philza and Technoblade had succeeded. They’d taught their lessons to a pair of bright young boys and left before they could see the aftereffects.

The adults slept easy that night, safe in their belief that they’d prevented further suffering for Tommy and Tubbo.

The kids didn’t sleep.

After all, they were students. And they had a test to study for.

They took the lessons they’d learned and held them close to their chest. They clutched them tightly, ingraining them deep into their minds.

In the end, Tommy and Tubbo had learned well. They’d been taught a lesson they would never forget, never unlearn, never move past.

“Maybe one day you’ll understand.”

Oh, they understood. They understood far too well.

“We had to send a message.”

Message received, loud and clear.

“We needed to teach them a lesson.”

Such is the value of a lesson learned.

**Author's Note:**

> so anyways yeah that was my shitty speedrun analysis of events
> 
> hopefully it makes sense? i hope? 
> 
> (also the views expressed by the characters are not reflective of the views of the author) (i still have some modicum of vague optimism left, somewhere in there)


End file.
